(Re)learning to listen

Tend to the “inner ear” and find peace

I awakened to a breezy, chilly morning, a late Winter storm having passed through last night, beginning with cold rain, including thunder and lightning, eventuating in a thin layer of ice, covered with a brush of light snow. When I opened the garage door for Otis to take care of his first-thing-of-the-morning business, his furry little legs stopped at the edge of snow as he turned his head with a glance that said “are you kidding me?” As we ventured into the chilliness, I remembered last night as the storm was passing through.

I was sitting in my comfortable living room chair, reading a book, with Otis near my feet, playing on the floor with one of his innumerable chew toys. Paws and teeth actively overpowering his soft duck, he suddenly stopped, dropping the duck as he sat on his haunches, peaked his ears and listened. It was the first time in his life he has ever heard thunder, and to be honest, I’m not sure I would have even noticed if it weren’t for his response.

He growled softly, trotted over to the window to investigate, and then was promptly distracted by his own reflected image, which, of course, caused him additional distress. I soothed him with words, he returned to my feet and I picked him up for a few minutes’ reassurance. It wasn’t long before he was ready to be free of my grasp, and I deposited him back on the floor to resume his puppy adventures.

In a matter of a few short minutes he had gone from contentedly playing, to visibly alerted, to audibly responsive, and then to a reassured state, resuming his previous quiet activity.

Observing Otis’s sensitivity reminds me that I need to re-learn how to listen. My six-decades-old hearing system isn’t what it used to be. I need the television volume higher than I once did, and I prefer closed captioning to accompany the sound because there are phrases I miss, depending on who is talking. In a regular day, it takes something unusually jarring to get my attention, embedded as I often am in my normativity. So, in a day’s time I may “hear” all sorts of voices and sounds around me, but I only listen when I am intentional.

I find, however, that when I take the time to listen — to really hear — the person speaking to me or the sounds around me, and allow myself to focus rather than to wander in mental distraction, that I find some level of peace, a sense of easiness in my world.

When I don’t take the time to listen, however, I find myself anxious or conflicted or edgy for reasons I don’t really understand. I’m not always sure how I get to those moments, because I don’t really notice until I’m worried or annoyed or overwhelmed. Even then, it’s not too late to tend to my “inner ear.” I can become intentional, practice a breathing exercise, focus on a neutral object and allow myself awareness to center once again.

Living in a house with no other humans now, I often have something in the background — music or public radio or a television broadcast — but this morning I’m simply listening. I hear the furnace’s heat flowing through registers, my fingers tapping at my iPad keyboard, my own breathing and the silence of a late Winter morning. The stillness is quieting to my soul, and when I pray the Daily Office — usually aloud — this conversation with the Lover of my soul speaks peace which settles into my scattered thoughts and jumpy soul.

There are many good reasons to have a puppy in my life, but perhaps the most important is learning a new level of attentiveness based my observation of his listening intentionality.

I think I need one of those bracelets with “WWOD” (“What would Otis do?”) as a reminder that as a human sharing a puppy’s life, an old dog can new learn tricks.